Moratorium
by chuochuo
Summary: A king, a warrior, a brother... when the titles that define you are erased from your memory, who are you? Set in Golden Age. Book/Movie-verse.
1. Chapter 1

**After reading dozens of Narnian fanfics, I decided to try writing one! This fic is dedicated to all wonderful writers of Narnian fanworld and fellow fan readers :)**

**The idea came to me quite naturally, as I major in psychology and I always find identity development an interesting subject to study.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Narnian that you can recognize.**

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><p><strong>Moratorium<strong>

Identity moratorium is one of the four stages of James Marcia's identity status paradigm. It is characterized as a status in which one is in the midst of an identity crisis, without commitment to a clear or definite identity.

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**Chapter 1. A Lone Campaign**

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"You sure Ed? Are you- are you _really_ sure?"

The High King over all of Narnia trailed closely behind his little brother, who was busily moving about in their shared chamber to put on the gears for the impeding campaign.

"Yes, I'm _quite_ sure that I can manage a campaign by myself," the Just King replied bemusedly. He absently noted that his older brother looked like a spring-frenzied hare. Not that he would ever tell him. He valued his life, after all.

"You know, if you just postpone the departure for a week – or maybe a few days, I may be able to jo-" Stopping in mid-sentence, Peter was once again seized by a coughing fit. Edmund quickly abandoned his gauntlets to be near him, gently pounding on his back when he was close enough. After a couple of agonizing minutes, Peter gathered himself, still heaving rather heavily.

"I guess I don't have to reply to that?" Edmund said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the gloomy mood the High King had been wearing of late.

The Narnian Kings have been planning for what they labeled as a "Southern Campaign" ever since they learned of the remaining Fell Beasts gathered in the border area to Archenland, harassing the inhabitants of both countries. Everything was going according to the plan, until the day Peter came down with a nasty cold that left him feverish for many days and nights.

Naturally, none of the royal siblings deemed him fit to leave the Cair, let alone go on a campaign. Peter argued, reasoned, and even pleaded, but they would have none of it. He was to stay behind with the Queens, while Edmund led the troops to the southern land as planned. The Kings had rarely gone on any military operations without each other during their four years' reign, and even less did Edmund lead the army all by himself. Yes, good and wise Oreius would accompany him, and yes, the troops were more than ready to fight and win – Peter himself had made sure of this. But the High King still worried and fretted over his younger brother.

And thus the sore mood he was sporting on the day of the troops' departure.

"I hate this," Peter murmured, feeling anything but magnificent at the moment.

"Believe me, Pete, I do too. But this's how it's going to be," Edmund sighed, and smiled as he turned to face his brother once more, gesturing at the gauntlets left on the bed, "help me with those, will you?"

Edmund was perfectly capable of putting on the gears by himself, and if not his valet was just outside the door, waiting to be called. But he knew that his brother needed this, needed to _act_, even if it was nothing more than tying a few stripes of leather.

Ever so carefully, Peter helped putting the glittering silver gauntlets on his fellow king's forearms. He then moved onto help him with his shin-guards. Edmund let him, wearing a gentle, mildly exasperated smile that not many outside Narnia thought he was possible of expressing.

When at last Peter re-tied the bootlaces for the second time and found that he could have no more excuse to help his brother with his equipping, Edmund picked up his helmet from where it had been lying on the top of the drawer.

Before the younger could say anything, he found himself tightly held by two strong, slightly trembling arms.

"Be careful out there. I'm going to miss you," Peter murmured, hiding a tender kiss on the crown of the unruly dark hair. He pulled his brother, his most cherished treasure to his chest as close as he could manage, not caring that he was only wearing a light garment while the other was fully armored.

"I know," Edmund whispered, returning the hug just as fiercely. "Walk with me to the gate?"

"Of course," Peter answered, pressing one last kiss on the forehead before letting him go. They knew that once they leave the privacy of their chamber, they were no longer just brothers – they were sovereigns, responsible of the lives and wellbeing of their subjects. They had to appear strong and calm in front of them.

When they reached the gate, their sisters were already there, waiting. So were the whole troops and quite a number of Narnians, who gathered to see off their family members and friends.

"Take care of yourself, and have a swift trip," Susan said as she hugged her brother. Edmund gently kissed her cheek, saying, "I will."

Next, Lucy gave her hug as she whispered, "Aslan will guide your way. Trust in him, and remember that we're all here, waiting for your return."

"Yes, Milady," Edmund raised her hand and brushed his lips against her fingers, which sent her to giggles, discarding her attempt at appearing solemn for once. Edmund relished in that bell-like sound, determined to engrain it in his memory to accompany him along the journey.

He then turned to his brother, who pulled him into a tight embrace. "May Aslan's blessing be with you."

"And with you too, my Liege."

With the final node at his siblings, Edmund gracefully hurled himself up on Philip's back.

"For Narnia, for Aslan!" Edmund shouted, to which all the gathered Creatures answered with a loud, resounding cheer. Then he charged forward on his steadfast steed and friend, leading his army towards the southern land.

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><p><strong>So... how was it? *sheepish grin*<br>**

**Please review! Any comments are welcome :)**

**I will _try_ to upload once a week. I already have next two chapters written, but I need to revise them before I deem them presentable!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**As I promised, an update! Thank you my good reviewers. I'm glad you have found the story interesting so far! Hopefully it will stay that way :) **And yes, I do love overprotective Peter ;) Sometimes he reminds me of my older brother, which makes him all the more interesting character to write about!**  
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**I thought about elongating the battle scene, but decided to move the story quickly. I hope it's not too abrupt.**

**Anyway, enough with the chitchat. Let's move on.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. I was not born in late 19th century.  
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**Chapter 2. Title-less**

_._

__.__

Dear royal siblings of mine,

_I'd l__ove__ to tell you that all's well and that we're packing up to head back to Cair, but it seems like it would be days until we could send heralds carrying the message of victory. The Fell Beasts are a force to be reckoned, more so than we had previously thought._

_But before you give yourself a heart failure Peter, __I'm all right__. And so are the fellow brothers-in-arm__s__. A fair number of us are wounded – some rather seriously so – and there were some close calls, but so far no casualties whatsoever. Yeah, yeah I know. I'm a brilliant leader. So Peter, BREATHE._

_I'm missing you all__ (like you don't already know)__, and I was really sorry to miss the pre-harvest celebration, my dear sisters. Did good Mrs. Clovefoot make those wondrous toffees of hers? More importantly, have you saved any for me? You better._

_Oops, I'm running out of space. I guess I should save some gossip for when I see you face to face. Or the next letter. But I prefer the first option._

_Take care, and know that you're in my prayers._

_Love,_

_Edmund_

_._

Lucy looked up from the letter and giggled. Peter rolled his eyes good-naturedly, having read the letter as soon as it was delivered by the messenger Hawk.

"Well, good to know _someone_ knows you well enough to worry over your immediate wellbeing," the youngest monarch said, handing the letter over to the expectant hand of her older sister.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh," Peter said, tousling her hair, earning him a mock-indignant yell of "hey!"

However, his face was suddenly clouded with worry as he stood up to start pacing the chamber. "Ed seems to be doing well, but still it's been over a fortnight since he left. Maybe-maybe I should go with some reinforcement?"

"Peter, for all we know, the battle might have ended by now. Edmund could be riding back home as we speak," Susan said, ever the rational one.

"I know, I know. It's just that I keep having this vague sense of apprehension. And I've been having _that_ dream for three nights in a row. I can't help thinking that something bad will happen to him soon," Peter said, frowning deeply. He had recovered from his cold about a week ago, and had only recently received green signal from his well-meaning but nonetheless exhaustingly mothering sisters.

Although he continued to feel uneasy as if his stomach had turned into lead, he had brushed it off as the lingering effect of the recent illness. However, when it did not go away and he had _th__at_ dream – the dream of the Battle of Beruna, only with a different ending – he knew there was something wrong. It wasn't really what one would call a premonition, but the Pevensie siblings often had certain sense of uneasiness or especially upsetting nightmare before an adversity dawned on one of them.

So naturally, when Peter woke up everyone within the vicinity of his room with bloodcurdling scream the three siblings huddled together for the rest of the night, worrying and hoping that the nightmare was only what it was – a nightmare. But even as Peter reassured the girls that everything would be all right, he took it as a warning, a warning from the Highest King to be aware of what would happen soon.

"Then let's wait for the next messenger to arrive. If the situation hasn't changed much by then, maybe you could bring reinforcement to Edmund," Susan suggested, sensing her older brother's almost palpable distress. Peter was only too glad to accept the suggestion.

Back in his room – after ordering the arrangement of possible reinforcement so that they could leave at a moment's notice, of course – Peter was still edgy and agitated. He knew something was wrong. Something dreadful was going to happen to his brother, he just knew it. But there was nothing he could do when they were separated by miles upon miles.

_Aslan, __p__lease keep him safe,_ he silently pleaded.

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In all likelihood, the campaign should have ended several days ago.

But here he was, still swinging his double swords in a dance-like trance in the midst of yet another battlefield. The early morning air, which should be clear and crisp, was tainted with the revolting scent of blood. Really, everything should have ended if not for the unexpectedly powerful hag on the enemy's side.

Older than any other hags the Just King had ever seen in his life – which were quite many – the hag also knew more dark magic than any of them.

_I need to get her if we are to finish this mess_, Edmund thought grimly, his dark eyes wildly searching for the hag's repulsive presence. However, it was not easy as the hag preferred to stay in the safety of shadows and bushes to cast her spells without interruption.

_Where is she?_ Edmund frantically scanned the woods surrounding the battlefield – and there, he caught the glimpse of gray cloak before the hag retreated further into the shadows of thick woods.

Adjusting his grip of the swords, the teenage king ran after the vile creature.

He found the hag near the deep stream rushing and roaring with great speed and might.

"You have nowhere to run," Edmund quietly told her, and lunged forward with a battle cry.

They fought for what seemed like hours, although Edmund knew it could not have been longer than half an hour at most, judging by the little change in the angle of shadows.

While he was evading one of the spells, Edmund fell into the stream. Although he quickly hoisted himself up before he was swept away by the strong current, he was completely drenched with his clothes stuck to his skin. Realizing that speed was of essence in this battle, he quickly deposed of his dripping armor that was weighting him down. He mentally cringed, knowing what Peter would say if he witnessed his little brother facing the head of the enemy force in nothing but a light tunic and leggings. But Peter was not here, and he would never be enlightened of this trivial matter if Edmund had his way.

Although the hag was quick in casting various spells, the young king's swords were faster. In a split second Edmund had her pinned on the ground, his right arm raised high, ready to strike.

"A fine warrior you have become, Queen's dear pawn. A fine king, a fine brother," the hag said tauntingly, "but what are you without all these titles? Who are you, when you are no longer the master over your own memories?"

"Do not trust your petty trickery will have any effect on me," Edmund growled, and poised his sword so that it was aiming straight to the hag's throat.

"Does it not? Am I not speaking the truth?" The hag said, and started to recite a spell.

Alarmed, Edmund brought down the sword that ended the hag's life – but not before the spell hit him squarely on the head.

Edmund had never experienced a headache as severe as the one he felt then. It was brain-splitting, and perhaps literally as well, for all his memories and thoughts started to get jumbled together, words mixed with words, names scattered among names, and faces lost among faces.

Losing balance, Edmund fell once again into the stream. However, this time he did not have consciousness to get himself out. Instead, his slight body was quickly swallowed by the merciless gushing water that carried him further south, away from his troops, away from his home, away from his family.

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A Hawk dived straight to where the High King was standing at the balcony. Peter quickly searched for the sight of the expected letter from his brother king, but the messenger bore no letter.

"Your Majesty," the Hawk called out as she landed on the railing.

"Good cousin, what news do you bring?" Peter asked, trying not to panic. Surely there was a good reason the herald was not carrying any letter. Surely there was a reason she was wearing an expression of fathomless sorrow. Surely, surely the sense of dread that suddenly tenfolded inside him was a trick of his mind.

"Your Majesty, I bring a message from General Oreius. The Fell Beasts have been subdued."

Peter sighed in relief. Edmund's troops won. They would soon be home. But something was amiss.

"Wait, General Oreius, you said?"

Why wasn't it Edmund who sent the message?

The Hawk lowered her head in a clear sign of grief and sadness.

"Yes, your Majesty. He also asked me to inform you that King Edmund the Just has gone missing."

"_Missing_?"

Peter gripped the railing hard, barely catching himself before his legs gave out. His knuckles turned white, as did his face. He felt sick, but he could not collapse before he learned precisely what had happened to his brother, his king.

"Yes, Sire. He was last seen chasing after the hag, the leader of the rebelling force. When he did not come back after the end of the battle, a scout team was dispatched. They found the body of the hag in a small clearing by the stream, and the swords and armor of King Edmund beside it. But there was no sign of the king."

"It can't be," Peter whispered, "it can't be true!"

"I am deeply sorry, your Majesty," the Hawk lowered her head once more, "but please rest assured, General is doing everything in his power to find King Edmund."

"No, I can't be very well _rest assured_ when my brother has gone missing!" Peter stopped himself when he saw the Hawk flinch at the harsh words, realizing that he was scaring both himself and the herald. He took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic down. "I'm sorry. I did not mean any offense. Please tell General Oreius that I'll soon be there with reinforcement."

"I will, your Majesty."

With those words the Hawk left to retrace the long journey she had just made.

Not waiting to see her leave, Peter turned. He ran inside and stopped the first patrolling guard he met.

"King Edmund has gone missing. Send message to the reinforcement troop. We are leaving now."

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**It's really, really hard to insert single line breaks in Edit/Preview Document page. Even if I insert them by pressing Shift + Enter, they disappear as soon as I click Save. Is it only me or do other people have similar problem? :'( I'm using _"."_ to mark line break for now, but it just doesn't look pretty.  
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**Anyway, review please! I need incentive/reinforcement to write this story, especially since the semester is in full-swing now. **(On the side note, anyone thinking of studying psychology, beware - you are in for tons of writing for _every course_.)** So please, motivate me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm back with another update! :) I think this story will be about 10 chapters long. I should have started my fanfic-writing career with a one-shot and not a multi-chapter fic *sigh* Maybe I should upload a one-shot instead of an update on this story next week. Hmmm...**

**To lightning bird: Yes, Edmund is having a some sort of amnesia, but it is different from the ones we see in our world (like lacunar amnesia). His condition will be explained in more detail in this chapter, so please read on! :)**

**Disclaimer: As we all know, C. S. Lewis owns it all.  
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**Chapter 3. Muddied Identity**

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Jumbled words slowly trudged through Edmund's fuzzy consciousness. Gradually the words became louder and more coherent as he came to.

"…fine clothes, must be a son of those nobles who are fighting their heads off…"

"…quite young… d'you reckon s'body's out there lookin for him?"

"…n't matter… perhaps his family's dead, who knows…."

Not knowing if they were enemies or allies – a strange way of classifying people, he noted dimly – Edmund tried to stay quiet, but a small groan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Ugh…"

His throat was sore and dry, and he felt like his whole body had been hammered and tossed around by Northern Giants.

"Hey! The kid's awake!" A man yelled, too close to Edmund's ear for his comfort.

"Hush, Dimbo, you're too loud," A voice, this time female, scolded the man. Edmund opened his eyes against the bright daylight just enough to make out the plump figure squatting next to him. She was a stern looking, middle-age woman dressed in simple, practical dress. "Kid, can you hear me?"

"Y-yes," he rasped.

"Good. Care to tell me who you are? You are not from Torint for sure."

At that moment, Edmund realized that, to his horror, he could not remember much about himself. When he felt the questioning stare on him, he voiced out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Ed… Mund? I-I think that's my name. I don't remember. I-I don't remember much."

Perhaps it was his hesitant, uncertain words or perhaps it was his panicky, utterly distraught expression that aroused a sense of pity inside the stout woman. Anyhow the woman's face softened tiniest bit, and her dark eyes displayed hints of sympathy, although her voice never lost its gruffness.

"Well, more like Mud if you ask me. You do realize that you are quite filthy, right lad?"

Edmund looked around and realized that he was lying on a muddy bank, and that he was indeed quite dirty with mud and sediments clinging to his clothes and hair.

"Dimbo, make yourself useful and help the boy up. I don't think anything's broken, he should be able to walk."

The man came over and hoisted Edmund up, setting him on his feet.

"So what now, Grinna? Take 'im to the mansion?"

"No choice here, isn't it?" The woman, Grinna, replied grumpily.

"Where are you taking me?" Edmund questioned, slightly scared. In the back of his mind, a vague sense of panic and apprehension at following strangers arose.

"To Lord Timbolt's mansion, of course. It's his summer residence, and he and his family are there now. Hunting season, you see. We work there, and you better be as well. I'm not running a charity, you got to earn your food," before Edmund could say anything, she grabbed him by the collar and pushed him forward. "Now come along Muddy, we're already late."

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Not surprisingly, Edmund – or Muddy as he was referred to now – collapsed not even halfway along the way to the mansion. Dimbo carried him the rest of the journey, and Grinna tucked him in a pile of blankets in a corner of the kitchen. It took three days for Muddy to completely come to and feel strong enough to move around.

When he was deemed healthy enough to work, he was introduced to the rest of staff at Lord Timbolt's mansion as a distant cousin of Grinna. Grinna told Muddy that she suspected him to be from a noble family around the region, in which case he was in a dire danger of losing his life at the hands of other noble families. As she had yet heard of anyone looking for him, it was very likely that his family had either all died or fled from the area. Therefore, she said, it would be wise for him to live as a nobody than going around and exposing himself to mad murderers in noble gowns.

To Muddy's slight surprise, the servants of the mansion did not question the sudden inclusion in their workforce. Apparently there was a shortage of hand, and the extra pair of them was actually welcomed with much enthusiasm. As soon as he was through with the introduction, he was given tasks upon tasks.

Even on his first day at work, Muddy found himself running from one place to another, quickly installing the mental map of the spacious house into his quick mind.

"You're not supposed to use the main hallways during the day! Remember, we are not the maids in pretty clothes – we need to be invisible to the Lord's family. Do you hear? Don't wander off!" Grinna ordered when she caught him heading to one of the larger hallways.

"Yes, Grinna," Muddy replied. The last part of Grinna's words sounded somehow familiar, denoted with an emotion mixed of pain, hope, and gratitude.

The work was simple but hard on the young, still aching body. Until very well into the night Muddy was sent from kitchen to garden to maids' quarter to storage room and back to kitchen, running errands, cleaning hearts, dusting window frames and plucking weeds. When he was finally released from his work, he instantly threw himself on the pile of thick, itchy blankets in the kitchen corner that had become his private quarter.

Muddy was ready to fall asleep as soon as his head laid on the topmost blanket, but he still tried to make sense of the turmoil in his head before he was pulled into deep slumber. If he tried hard, he could put together some pieces of memory and make some kind of sense out of them. He vaguely remembered his parents. But the images of them were situated against a background quite different from here. He remembered that he was originally from another world, somewhere called Finchley… and there were some names floating in his mind. Su… Lu…? Sulu? No, no, that wasn't quite right. They were two different persons, though he had no idea how or where he met them. And there was another name starting with P… maybe Pu? But it sounded so wrong….

Before long, Muddy was soon lost to the oblivion, a myriad of unanswered questions roaming his head.

And in his sleep he had the most confusing and wondrous dream he ever remembered having.

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_Muddy was standing on a sandy beach. He looked around and spotted a magnificent castle rooming not so far from where he was. The sight caused such an acute longing inside him that he almost instinctively turned his head away. To his surprise, he realized that he was crying._

_Wiping away his tears in slight confusion, he turned his gaze to the gently roaring sea. The water was clear like well-polished glass, blue with a tint of green. Mesmerized by the picturesque scenery surrounding him, Muddy slowly walked along the beach. He tried not to turn his head to the direction of the castle, in fear of crying again._

"_Son of Adam, where are you going?"_

_Startled, Muddy looked up and found himself face to face with a large, fearful yet wonderfully beautiful Lion. For a couple of seconds Muddy just stared in awe, and suddenly remembered that the Lion had asked him a question._

"_I-I don't know," Muddy answered helplessly, feeling lost. At the back of his mind he wondered how could a lion speak, but he could not really bring himself to care. It just felt right._

"_Son of Adam, do you know who you are?" The Lion asked gently._

" _I-I'm Muddy. But I-I don't think that's really who I am." After a short while, a realization struck him. "You are Aslan, right? The Great Lion."_

_Aslan purred softly in pleasure, "That is correct, Son of Adam."_

"_How do I know you? I don't remember much… but I feel like I should know you."_

"_You are under a spell that made you forget your titles and memories attached to them, Dear One. But the caster of the spell did not know all of your titles, hence some of them stayed with you," the Great Lion approached and gently nuzzled Muddy's face, "but even if the caster knew of your most fundamental title – that you are My Son, My Chosen One – she would not have been able to alter it. Such title cannot be changed by any force or might."_

_Glad to finally know the reason behind his situation but still confused, Muddy asked, "So am I supposed to live like this? With my memory lost? Forever?"_

"_It is for you to choose. Soon you will be able to remember the memories that were not attached to the titles the caster erased from your mind," Aslan answered, "and if you let me help you, I can lift the spell from you. But it is your choice and decision."_

_Muddy fell into silence. At first he wanted nothing more than to ask the Great Lion to restore his memory fully and wholly. However, were he supposed to want it? What if his former self _chose _to let the caster erase those memories? Didn't Grinna say that his family might be dead? Did he want those memories, memories of the deaths of his loved ones, whoever they might be?_

"_I-I don't know. I'm not sure," Muddy confessed at last._

"_I will wait. Call me when you are ready, Dearest."_

_With the gentle, soft roar of Aslan, the whole scene started to fade into whiteness._

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**I hope Aslan's explanation on Edmund's condition is clear. In short, he did not lose all his memories, but only those that were attached to specific titles that the Hag decided to erase. Therefore, he still maintain his vague memory of his parents, as the Hag certainly did not know about his status as a son.**

**I decided to give Edmund an alias of some sort, as the name Edmund should sound familiar to at least some Archenlanders. I hope it doesn't sound too strange! "Muddy" also symbolizes Edmund's current status as an amnesic, lowly servant-boy, as servants in old days often did not have dignified names.  
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**The situation and conflict in the northern part of Archenland - where Edmund is now - will be clarified in next chapter.  
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**If you have any more question about the setting, please ask! Even if you don't have any question, please review!  
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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating last week! But this chapter is the longest one by far, so perhaps you can forgive me of my tardiness?**

**One of the reasons I didn't update sooner was because I've started on another multi-chapter fic starring the Pevensie siblings. I know I should probably focus on finishing this one, but I just couldn't help it! It's a classic what-if story, about what will happen if Ed is suddenly regressed back to 4-5 years old self, both physically and mentally. Sounds interesting? ;) I'll try to post it after I complete this fic!  
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**To moni9576: In the first chapter, it is briefly mentioned that this story takes place during the 4th year of the Golden Age. So that would make Edmund about 14-year-old :)  
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**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Not at all.  
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**Chapter 4. The Nobility of Archenland  
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Peter dismounted as soon as he reached the camp. Oreius came forward to meet him, his stoic face clouded with grief and guilt. He bowed low to his High King. Philip was close behind.

"Your Majesty. I am deeply sorry for our failure to keep King Edmund safe."

"It was not your fault, good general. But have you found… any trace of him yet?" Peter asked, catching himself before he could say "his body." Edmund was not, could not be dead. If Oreius noticed it – which he most likely did, nothing passed by him unnoticed – he did not comment.

"No Sire. We have been searching everywhere within ten miles' radius from the clearing, at least the area on our side of the border."

Noticing slight hesitance in the general's voice, Peter realized that Oreius was holding some thoughts back. He sighed in frustration. "Oreius, if you have any speculation or anything, please say so."

"Sire, some of us have been wondering if… King Edmund fell into the stream and was carried away across the border to Archenland," Oreius said, meeting Peter's gaze equally.

"But- is the stream that strong? Shouldn't Ed have been able to get himself out?" Peter wondered.

"He should have been, if he was conscious and had enough strength," Oreius quietly remarked, and Peter realized the reason behind the general's initial hesitation to share his thought.

"You-you think Ed might have been hurt enough to let himself be carried away?" Peter said, renewed sense of panic sweeping through his veins.

"The current is strong this time of year, Sire. And soon after it crosses the border, it becomes a river, far deeper and wider. But if King Edmund had been carried that far…."

"Edmund is not dead, Oreius," Peter said, looking defiant but – to the general's surprise and hope – also somehow so sure, "if something that dreadful had happened to him, I would have known. I or the girls would have _felt_ it. And Aslan did not enthrone us just so one of us could die so young."

"Then what are your orders, my King?" Oreius asked.

"Search the area once more. If still nothing can be found, I will go to Archenland to ask for King Lune's help," Peter answered, his jaw set in fierce determination. "I will not rest until I find my brother, Oreius."

"I know, my King," the general answered, bowing his head low once more.

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A week passed. The staff at Lord Timbolt's mansion now considered Muddy as a part of them, and it was quite hard for them to believe that just mere days ago they had lived without the presence of the witty, lanky teenager. Although it was fairly clear that Muddy had not much experience in manual labor – despite rough palms of his hands that testified he was quite used to wielding something heavy for prolonged periods of time – he learned quickly and completed tasks given to him with unmatched efficiency. Not surprisingly, he earned the good grace of almost entire staff in a couple of days' time.

But still he was the youngest, and thus was often given tasks that others were unwilling to carry out themselves.

Even now, Muddy quietly ventured into a main hallway, keeping to the shadow. Technically he was not allowed to use it, but Yallin, a grumpy manservant/carpenter, had ordered him to fetch the tools he had left in one of the guest rooms when he fixed the broken windowsill earlier that day.

_Turn left at that corner, the room should be the third one down the hallway. He said the door had rose carvings that were hard to miss, _Edmund reminded himself, a little frustrated at having called off from tending to the horses, a task that he actually enjoyed doing.

So deep in thought was he that he at first did not realize he had left the safety of the shadow and was walking in broad daylight. More importantly, he missed that he was not alone in the corridor.

Suddenly aware of somebody's steady gaze on him, Muddy whipped around to find a gracefully and ornately dressed young lady standing merely two feet away from him. She soon shortened the distance as she approached him with a smile that somehow sent chills down his spine. With dread he realized that this must be Lady Kelora, the daughter of Lord Timbolt.

"I'm sorry, your Ladyship. I was just fetching tools in one of the guest rooms. I meant no disrespect," Muddy hastily said, bowing his head low in apprehension. He expected harsh scolding or even punishment of some sort, but he did not expect white fingers to lift his chin up. Which was precisely what Lady Kelora did.

"Y-your Ladyship?" Muddy stammered, now more bewildered than scared. But Lady Kelora kept smiling.

"I say, I have not seen you before. What is your name, silly little boy?" The saccharine voice caused Muddy to have a sudden urge to pull himself away from her, which he suppressed with a great amount of difficulty.

"Muddy, your Ladyship."

"Hmm. I never knew I had you under my family's service. What a waste." Lady Kelora turned Muddy's face this was and that. She smiled appraisingly. "Now, what do you say to a chance to serve me directly, Muddy?"

"Y-your Ladyship?" For the second time, Muddy could do nothing but stutter the formal address like a dumb parrot. The young lady laughed at his dumbstruck face.

"Don't look so surprised! Surely you don't want to spend your life running petty errands and cleaning stables and such? But you are a bit too young. Perhaps a year would do well," Lady Kelora said, tracing Muddy's jaw line. Despite himself, Muddy lightly shuddered at the touch. Even though the day was warm, her fingers were icy cold. "Yes, a year later would be good. Until then, do try to grow a bit taller, and do clean up!" She laughed, lowering her hand. With the final smile, she turned around and walked away.

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><p>.<p>

"Susan! Susan! Peter's letter is here!"

At Lucy's cry, Susan rushed to her sister's side. The younger queen was holding a sealed envelope she had just received from the messenger. Together the sisters broke the seal and opened the folded letter. They quickly read through the content.

"They still haven't found him…." Lucy murmured.

"Oh, it's all my fault!" Susan suddenly exclaimed and buried her face in her hands. Alarmed, Lucy turned to face her, her small hands gently holding her arms.

"What do you mean, Susan? It's not your fault at all!" She softly exclaimed, surprised to find tears making their ways between the trembling fingers.

"B-but I-I told P-Peter that, that h-he shouldn't b-bring reinforcement to h-help E-Ed, and n-now he's m-missing, and I-I can't-"

"Stop it, Susan," Lucy ordered fiercely as she hugged her sister. "It's not your fault. You didn't know. None of us did. It's nobody's fault. You are not at fault anymore than I am."

After a while, the older queen calmed down, her sob having ran its course. Although her face was still marked with deep sadness, she managed to smile weakly down at her sister. "Thank you, Lucy," she said, hugging her back.

"You're always welcome, Su," Lucy warmly grinned. "And Peter said he's going to ask King Lune to help him find Edmund. You know King Lune will give him all the help he can."

"Yes, Lucy. You're right. How did you become so wise? You always know exactly what to say to comfort," Susan said, her eyes still glittering with tears.

"Lots of practice in handling certain siblings with overly developed guilt complex might have done the trick," Lucy answered. Susan laughed, to which Lucy answered with her own laughter. Sometimes being the youngest meant you had to stand firm and help your older siblings when they were too tired and weak from bearing so much responsibility that they heaped unto their own backs.

_Aslan, help us. Keep Edmund safe. Lead Peter to him. And hold us as we wait, _Lucy silently prayed.

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><p>.<p>

Usually Peter enjoyed his visits to Anvard. King Lune was his good friend, perhaps even a parent-figure. But on this occasion he could not bring himself to appreciate the lively city that always brought so much excitement to him before.

King Lune regarded the younger king with sympathy and sorrow when he heard the news of the lost monarch.

"I wish it was anywhere but the northern border area where your brother is thought to have reached," the older king said grimly. Peter's heart fell.

"What do you mean, your Majesty?"

"There has been a series of violent disputes going on in that area for some time now. The nobility over there never quite got along, and now each family has turned against each other. There have been reports of much bloodshed and violence for past few months. King Edmund was dressed well, wasn't he?"

"Yes, your Majesty" Oreius answered, his all-business tone cautiously masking his emotions, "he did not have most of his armor and swords, but he was wearing his royal tunic."

"Then I am deeply sorry to say this, but High King Peter there is a chance that people there could have mistaken him as a young noble from another family. They might not have viewed him in a good light or waited to hear him out. Had any of the noble families there found and identified him, they would have sent report to me by now."

"King Edmund is alive, your Majesty," Peter replied fiercely. "It is possible that he is staying in one of the towns, disguised as a commoner for safety. Is there any way I can go there and search for him?"

"It is too dangerous for you to go there as you are now, for some of the nobles there are not quite fond of Narnians." King Lune was deep in thought for a while. "But I was planning on dispatching a party of royal investigators to find out the cause of the conflict and settle it. Perhaps you could accompany the party, disguised as one of them?"

"I would appreciate it, King Lune. I give my deepest thank to you," Peter said, glad that there was finally something he could do.

"But you must know, this means that none of your royal guards or soldiers can accompany you," King Lune said, looking apologetically at Oreius, who bowed his head in silent acceptance of the statement.

"We will station ourselves near the area, hidden until the need arises," the general replied.

"That would be good. The investigation party will stay at Lord Timbolt's summer mansion. The Lord is not part of the conflict going on there, as he hails from the southeastern part of the kingdom. He has kindly agreed to let the party use the residence as the base camp of sort," the Archenlander King said. Peter nodded, and after a short exchange of farewells he took his leave.

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><p><em>.<em>

**Yay! Peter's on the move! Will the brothers finally meet next chapter? You'll see.**

**Please review!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Dear readers, I'm dreadfully sorry for the long wait! It has been a pretty hectic month for me, and although I still have a month to go until I am reasonably free to indulge in my past time of writing fanfics, I decided to upload another chapter for this one.  
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**Disclaimer: Go get a copy of _The Chronicles of Narnia_. Now look at the cover. You should see "C. S. Lewis," not "chuochuo."  
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><p>.<strong><br>**

**Chapter 5. Convergence  
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Even in the early hours of dawn, the mansion was alive with quiet bustling of energy. The royal investigation party was to arrive today, which meant five individual guestrooms for visiting nobles plus three large quarters for escorting soldiers needed to be arranged, as well as food and other preparations for the welcoming feast.

"Muddy, go pick some hillberries. The cooks said what they had ordered from the market had gone bad overnight. You should get at least this bucketful. Hurry up, the mountain is a bit of a walk from here," Grinna said as she pushed a wooden bucket into Muddy's chest.

Happy to be away for a while, Muddy gladly went off. It wasn't often he was able to leave the grounds of the mansion. There was simply too much work to be done, especially with the upcoming visitation. His active mind was soon bored with the limited environment, and had been desperately calling for a change in scenery. Muddy swore to himself to make the best out of this little outing.

The mountain was oddly quiet, and even as Muddy was humming to himself – where did he learn this melody? – he felt overwhelmed and uneasy with the oppressing silence.

He somehow started to miss having a sword on his side, which was ridiculous because he was sure he did not know how to wield one even if he had it.

Just as he plucked a handful of berries, Muddy sensed that something was wrong.

He quickly turned, and almost instinctively jumped up and with one hand grabbed a tree branch of the nearby tree as a gray, snarling figure lunged at him. It was a wolf.

Muddy abandoned his bucket, which he had been clutching with his other hand, and hoisted himself up on the branch.

_Thump, thump, thump,_ he felt his heart beat wildly against his chest. He reached up and pulled himself higher up on the tree.

The wolf jumped and its fangs missed his ankle by mere inches.

Trembling, Muddy hung onto the tree branch with all his might. The growling of the wolf sounded too close, somehow too familiar, and too frightening for him to bear.

He almost lost his balance as a flood of memories invaded his head.

_.  
><em>

_A wolf, bigger and stronger than any he had ever seen pinned him on the icy floor, his foul breath repulsive and hot against his skin. Terrified, he realized that this wolf was not a statue like all the other animals in the hall._

_The beast growled, and he gulped, nearly fainting then and there._

_A woman, tall and pale and beautiful, with a towering ice crown and white dress. Her accusing, demeaning words piercing the silence of the all together too empty castle._

_He flinched. He belatedly realized that he had been tricked and made a grave, agonizing mistake – a mistake that might cost his loved ones' lives._

_The Queen's hand was cold and unforgiving as it struck on his face, still round with baby fat. As he fell to the ground, he knew he deserved it and more. And more did he receive._

_A faun, chained and shackled like him. "You're here, because he turned you in… for sweeties."_

_The look of utter shock and disappointment. He looked away, unable to hold the gaze anymore. _

_The faun's excruciating scream as he was forcefully led out of the cell rang in his ears long after he was gone._

_A dwarf with a sardonic smile. Whips slashing through the air, landing on his lightly covered back. The taunting, hate-filled words, "What would you like, O traitor-prince? Perhaps some sweets for your royal taste?"_

_Too tired to reply or make any response, he silently begged for his misery to end. But he knew such mercy could not be spared for a traitor like him… for it was who he was, a traitor._

.

The abrupt influx of the painful memory made Muddy sick. Not even noticing that the wolf had left upon seeing his prey out of his reach, he barely made it to the ground with wobbly limbs and overwhelming nausea.

As soon as he hit the ground, he went on all fours and was promptly sick on the ground.

As he shuddered and rasped for breath, Muddy closed his eyes at the sudden revelation of just what he was:

A traitor.

He could not make much sense of what he remembered, but the overwhelming sense of guilt, worthlessness, and wretchedness was enough to convince him that his memories were true.

He had betrayed his loved ones, whoever they might be, for nothing better than _sweets_.

Perhaps that was why his whole family was gone.

Perhaps he had damned them to fate worse than death. The Witch – there was no other word to describe her more justly – did not seem like someone merciful enough to grant quick, painless death to her captives.

_Oh Aslan, how am I to live with such knowledge?_

Over the past few weeks Muddy had recovered bits and pieces of his lost memory, but never did he experience such amount of recovery at one setting. And if all his missing memories were like this one, he did not want to regain them ever.

He was not sure if he could keep his sanity if he had any more experience like this.

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><p>Grinna was definitely not pleased to see Muddy trudging home empty-handed. But her scolding stopped mid-sentence when she notices the ghostly pallid face of the young boy, and she dismissed him to tend to other chores, to which he obeyed with a wordless nod.<p>

Throughout the day, Muddy was quiet.

Other servants were curious as to what had gotten into the boy, but they were all too busy to actually ask him. Thus the morning passed in unusual silence, and so did lunchtime.

When other servants went out to watch the arrival of the royal party like the majority of townspeople, Muddy stayed at his corner in the kitchen.

Therefore he was not there to witness High King Peter, under the alias of Sir Lionel, marched with Archenlander lords and soldiers along the main road of Torint.

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><p><em>.<em>

**I know it's short - I'm sorry :'( I promise, the next chapter will be longer!**

**So please, leave a review!  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm so sorry. I don't even have a good excuse for the late update. I just didn't feel like the next chapter was ready to be posted, and then I realized it has been more than a month since the last update. I'm sorry! But I hope you enjoy the chapter.  
><strong>

**Thank you WillowDryad for pointing out the spelling error in the last chapter! It's fixed now :)  
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**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
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><p>.<strong><br>**

**Chapter 6. Hide, Seek, and Meet  
><strong>

.**  
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It was official. Muddy _hated_ the visiting nobles. Not so much that they acted as if they were all high and mighty – well, they _were_ in fact high and mighty, but that was not the point here – but that they made his life indefinitely harder than before.

Hiding from the eyes of Lord Timbolt's family, especially one certain perverted daughter, was not so much a problem. Muddy had their daily routines practically memorized, so he knew when to keep away from main hallways or gardens.

But these newly arrived nobles were as unpredictable as a month-old foal, leaving and arriving at oddest times of the day. And there were _just so_ _many_ of them.

Muddy soon lost count of the number of times he had to hastily hide himself behind a statue, a wardrobe, a decorative hedge, or half-shut doors just because one of those blasted nobles decided to cross his path.

He knew he perhaps did not need to hide with such vigor, as they didn't look like someone who could not tolerate sharing a breathing space with a lowly servant-boy. But he did so anyway, for he feared somebody would recognize him and decide to kill him off.

Or worse yet, bring him to his family.

He did not know if his family were alive or not, but he could not bear the thought of meeting them either way. Not after all he did. Not after his horrifying, ghastly betrayal.

When Muddy's thought was not taking such a dark turn, he silently scoffed at how the royal guests could never notice him when he was hiding. Even the soldiers, who were supposed to be vigilant at all times, did not notice him. Well, people did tell him that he was sneaky and stealthy like a stray cat, but he couldn't be _that_ good, right? So that only meant those people from Anvard were just that bad.

Muddy seriously worried about the military competence of the country.

"Lad, go to the guestroom with the rose-carved door and fetch the weaponry there. That young noble did not send his sword and bow to be cleaned and tended to after yester-noon's hunting trip," Yallin called from where he was eating his midday snack.

Muddy inwardly groaned. Of all the guestrooms in the huge mansion, it had to be _that_ room. He still did not forget what had happened in front of that door. What was up with Yallin, always sending him to fetch stuff? He was not a bloody pet dog!

Scowling to express his displeasure – which Yallin pointedly ignored – and stomping his feet, Muddy left the kitchen and Yallin.

_At least those blasted nobles just left to who-knows-where again. And her oh-so-generously-offering-promotion Ladyship is having her lessons. The coast should be clear,_ Muddy consoled himself.

What he did not know was that one of the nobles had not left but stayed behind.

To be exact, behind a certain rose-carved door.

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><p><p>

(A few hours ago)

.

It had been over a week since Peter had stayed in Torint.

He had desperately accompanied all the investigation trips to various towns and small cities scattered in the northern Archenland. Everywhere he went, he searched through all the main public areas and asked as many people as he could manage to meet about a lanky teenage boy with ebony hair and pale skin.

But all the leads he got led him to eventual dead ends, and as time passed he felt his hope grow dimmer and dimmer until it was nothing but a flicker.

Every time Peter left to yet another journey, he returned to Lord Timbolt's mansion with nothing but disappointment. His companions, aware of his true identity as well as purpose, tried in vain to console him. They were intelligent and empathetic people, although Edmund, who never quite liked the formality and nobler-than-thou attitude, would have privately declared them "stuck-ups."

The thought of his younger brother made Peter to sigh. He missed him. He missed his snarky comments, keen insight to problems, and total lack of appreciation for formality that could easily drive Susan mad enough to loudly yell at him in white-hot fury, herself abandoning all courtly manners.

He missed sparring with him, he missed having chess matches with him, even though he almost always lost, and he missed playfully bantering with him to "cool off" after a tiring day.

He missed his laugh, he missed his warmth as he crawled in and slept curled against him after a particularly horrible nightmare, and he missed his presence that always anchored and balanced him.

To think that he might not be able to see him ever again….

Peter was scared.

He was terrified.

His previously adamant belief that Edmund was alive, a belief that had sustained him so far, was faltering. And that terrified him beyond anything. He was just not so sure anymore.

The grim speculations of both Oreius and King Lune seemed more plausible than ever. Peter had refused to believe or even consider them before. But now… everything seemed possible. What if, what if, what if, all the possibilities swam inside his head day and night, pestering and smothering him.

_Oh Aslan, what am I to do? I did all I could do. I searched everywhere, I asked so many people, I followed so many leads. And I still failed. What am I to do, Great Lion?_ Peter cried out in his mind.

He was utterly devastated. He knew the investigation party was leaving in an hour or so. But he just could not find the strength to go on anymore. He was so very tired and helpless.

_You have yet to ask for my help, _a gentle voice whispered in Peter's mind, and he felt a sudden breeze of warmth bathing him from head to toe.

"Aslan," Peter breathed in awe.

_Ask for my help, and I will help you,_ the voice said again.

"Oh, Aslan!" Peter fell to his knees beside his bed. "Help me! I am lost. I have no hope left. I tried everything I could, but my strength is just not enough. I can't do it. I tried, I really did try, but I can't! I can't find my brother!" Peter sobbed.

He could not bear this task of finding his brother by himself. All the weight that had been pressing on him felt so heavy, and he was being squashed under it. He felt like a small bug trying in vain to lift up a boulder, when all it could really do was try its best not to be crushed to death, never to rise again.

_Let go of your burden. I will take care of it. I will bring your brother to you._

"Oh please, please Aslan. Take away this burden from me. I cannot bear it, I am too weak," Peter cried, "I can't find my brother without your help. Please help me."

_I will bring your brother to you. Peace, Dear One._

_Peace, _Peter repeated after the soft voice. All of a sudden, he felt so weightless and warm. It was as if all the things that had been binding him were cut away from him. He felt like he was floating down a gentle river on a warm summer day. All the doubts and frightening possibilities that had raged inside his head before were gone like a handful of dust blown away by morning breeze.

His eyelids grew heavier, and before long the High King was asleep, leaning against his bed.

That was how Sir Glintwalk, one of the royal investigators, found him when he came to see why Sir Lionel was taking so long to prepare for the journey. Knowing that the young foreign monarch had been wearing himself out the past several days, he decided a long rest was in order. He gently lifted him in his arms and laid him on his bed.

"Peaceful dreams, your Majesty," Sir Glintwalk softly said and left the room.

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><p>Muddy was surprised to find the room occupied.<p>

Apparently one of the nobles decided to stay behind, for someone with sun-kissed golden hair was lying on the bed in otherwise empty room. As he was facing the wall with his back turned to him, Muddy was not so sure if he was sleeping or just resting.

"Sir?"

Muddy called out and gingerly waited for a reply. When none came, he sighed in relief and quietly closed the door behind him. He had to be quick. He had to retrieve the weapons and leave before the young noble awoke.

_Speaking of the weapons, they have to be here somewhere…._

Looking around, Muddy spotted the sword lying on the bedside table. The scabbard was the most elegant, beautifully crafted one he had ever seen. He imagined the sword inside it would be of equal beauty and magnificence. Magnificence, somehow the word sounded so _right_ in describing the sword.

Shaking his head to get rid of an odd sensation that always accompanied those little incidences of strange sense of familiarity, Muddy carefully picked up the sword. Now he only had to find the bow.

The bow, he soon realized with no little amount of frustration and annoyance, was hung on a wall just out of his reach.

Muddy put down the sword and tried to stand on tiptoes, but he could only graze the end of the bow.

He thought about jumping, but he did not want to risk waking up the slumbering noble. He then considered using a small piece of furniture to step on, perhaps a footstool, but he decided that he did not want to risk ruining anything either.

Left with no choice, Muddy glared at the evil piece of long, curved wooden stick with a string.

He growled in frustration. Did the person who put up the pegs on the wall have no consideration for still-growing boys like him? Wait, it was Yallin who put them up. Of course he had no consideration for anyone. Muddy scowled darkly.

Once again he tried to stand on tiptoes and stretched his arm as far as he could. But he just could not get a good grab of the wood. The wretched bow seemed to be teasing him from its higher position.

An amused, soft chuckle came from behind.

"I have cleaned all my weapons myself. You don't need to tend to them for me," A voice said.

Muddy stiffened.

_Oh great, I'm caught_, Muddy groaned inside. His next thought was, _What kind of noble clean his weapons by himself?_

But the self-preservative part of his mind soon turned to more practical questions. He considered darting out of the door, but that would just get him into more trouble. He even thought about pretending to be deaf, but he knew that the person must have noticed him stiffening at his words. There was no other choice.

Gingerly and reluctantly, Muddy turned around. He slightly lifted his gaze to find the now awake young noble looking at him from where he was standing next to his bed.

The noble, tall and broad-shouldered, was surprisingly not so much older than Muddy himself. But it was not this fact that startled him.

As soon as Muddy turned around, some sort of recognition dawned upon the young noble and his face was contorted with so much emotion that it physically hurt Muddy to witness it.

"Ed?" The strange noble, his voice now trembling, called.

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><p><em>.<em>

**So the brothers meet (finally!).  
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**I hope this is not a cliff-hanger! I wasn't really intending it to be, but now I look at it, it kinda looks like one.  
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**Anyway, please review!  
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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Wow. It's been four solid months since I last posted an update. I had this chapter done before I posted my last chapter, but I wanted to keep it until I could get the draft of the next chapter written out. But my muse is on holiday and didn't leave a contact behind. I can't reach her! I'm still not done with the next chapter, but decided to post this one anyway. I'm really sorry for the late update.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.**

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><p>.<strong><br>**

**Chapter 7. Confrontation and Conversation**

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Peter was aroused by low growls.

He lifted his head and stared dazedly at the blurry form of a boy, the apparent source of the noise.

He tried to think of where he was, and realized that he was still in his room at Lord Timbolt's mansion. Judging from the bright sunlight coming through the window, it had to be well past noon. He could not believe that he had slept for several hours, just after breakfast at that. The party must have left without him.

Shifting and sitting up, Peter remembered what happened before he fell asleep.

_I will bring your brother to you,_ the soft rumbling of the Great Cat's voice still rang in his ears.

Peter stretched. He felt more rested and refreshed than ever since he left Cair and his dear sisters. A small part of him worried about missing the trip, but he soon quieted the thought. Aslan would not have allowed him to sleep in and miss it if his brother was at the destination the investigation party was heading to. He would trust His promise of help, regardless of his anxiety-prone mind.

Having reached this conclusion, Peter refocused his attention to the strange boy in his room.

The intruder was donning plain clothes, signaling that he was some sort of a servant-boy. He lightly frowned when he saw Rhindon lying on the floor next to him. Then he saw the boy trying to reach the bow, which hung just a bit too high for him, and realized that he must be here to tend to his weapons. But he had cleaned them all last night before he went to bed, for he liked to do simple chores by himself. Even after being a king for four years, he never really wanted to be like royals or nobles from other countries who were so used to have every little thing done for them by others.

Peter stood up silently and watched the boy's struggle for a while, bemused. He reminded him of his brother, who was never happy at being shorter than most other men due to his unfinished growth process.

Unable to help himself, Peter chuckled in amusement.

"I have cleaned all my weapons myself. You don't need to clean them for me," He called out to the boy, deciding to end his rather pointless suffering to retrieve the bow that was not even in a need of tending to.

The boy stiffened, for a reason Peter could not automatically grasp. His outfit suggested that he was most likely one of the lowest servants of the mansion. But surely he was not punished when he was merely seen? He knew that in Archenland, servants – ranging from butlers and ladies-in-waiting in fine clothes to cooks and servants who did manual labor hidden from the public view – were treated very differently depending on their status. Although nowhere as atrocious as the slavery system in Calormen, such deferential treatment always irked him and his siblings.

_If the nobles are not so keen on seeing servants in ragged clothing, they should provide them with better things to wear, _Peter thought with righteous fury.

But whatever he was thinking soon came to an abrupt end as the boy turned around to face him.

When the curious brown eyes gazed at him through the shaggy bang of dark curls, Peter froze.

He could not believe his eyes.

So many emotions – happiness, surprise, disbelief, gratitude, excitement, and countless more – engulfed him all at once, and all he could do for a long moment was to stare at him in utter shock.

"Ed?" Light tremor sweeping through his entire body, Peter chocked out the one word that he had been aching to say for such a long time.

He couldn't hold off anymore.

Peter ran, and in an instant had the boy crashed against his chest heaving with relief and joy.

"Oh, Edmund!" Peter cried, his eyes burning fiercely with tears that were about to brim over and pour down his cheeks.

It was then that he noticed the boy was bewilderedly trying to wriggle himself out of the tight embrace.

Surprised that he might be hurting his brother, Peter unwound his arms. As soon as he had done it, the boy darted away and stood good five feet away from him.

Hurt and confusion written all across his face, Peter could do nothing but look at him worriedly. Did he do something wrong, other than the obvious mistake of letting him go on the campaign by himself? Was Edmund hurt? Was he angry that it took him so long to find him?

"Edmund?" Peter called out again, this time more cautiously and his voice shaky with suppressed panic.

"I'm-I'm not him, my Lord," the boy answered, "I'm Muddy, a servant of Lord Timbolt. I'm deeply sorry that I disturbed your rest. I-I should get going now."

"What? Of course you are Edmund!" Peter shouted, his previous wariness long forgotten at the unexpected words. How could he not be his brother? Sure he looked shaggier and filthier than the last time he saw him in his glittering battle-ware, but there was no way he would mistake him.

The unruly dark curls, piercingly bright eyes, pale, freckled face, the distinctive gait, and even the warmth he felt during the brief embrace all screamed out the identity of this boy in front of him.

Peter recognized his voice. He recognized his looks. What more proof did he need? And why was he denying himself?

"You must be mistaken, my Lord," the boy answered, looking distinctively uncomfortable.

And what was this whole business with "my Lord"? Surely he recognized his own brother?

"Don't you recognize me, Ed?" Peter asked, dreading the answer that he could somehow guess, although he desperately wanted it to be different.

"Not-not really, Sir. You are one of the royal investigators, right?"

Peter was stunned. "I'm your brother!" he shouted.

The boy stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Don't you remember? Don't you remember our sisters Lucy and Susan? Cair Paravel? Narnia? Philip? Oreius? …Me?" The last word stumbled out of Peter's mouth in a trembling whisper.

"N-No, Sir. I-I don't remember much beyond this past month," the boy said.

Peter felt his heart shattering into million pieces. He realized that this boy standing in front of him was like an empty vessel whose contents had all been washed away.

He was not King Edmund the Just but a lowly servant boy, frightened at being spotted during his chores.

Peter dropped to his knees.

_Dear Aslan. What am I to do?_

_.  
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><p>Muddy briefly entertained the thought that this young noble was quite possibility out of his mind.<p>

He was more than a little startled – frightened, if he was truly honest with himself – when the young man suddenly lunged forward and enveloped him in a fierce hug. Not to mention the subsequent madness about them being brothers.

The name Edmund sounded very nostalgic, like a long-forgotten childhood nickname, but that was it.

He couldn't possibly be related to this tanned, blond, sturdily built, and altogether _noble_ being.

Just as he was desperately trying to make some sense out of this whole nonsense, the noble gathered himself from where he had fallen on the ground and stood up, trying to persuade him again.

" Edmund, you have to believe me. I'm your brother, Peter. Your family and subjects are waiting for you in Narnia," the noble, whose name now Muddy learned was Peter, pleaded, "Please, come with me. I'll talk to Lord Timbolt. Let's go home."

Muddy was confused. Family? His whole family was alive? Then why would they want him back? He was a _traitor_, the worse of its kind, for the Mane's sake!

…Perhaps they did not know yet of his betrayal?

Now Muddy was truly afraid.

He did not want to follow this person, this self-proclaimed brother, to his family who he had betrayed in such an appalling manner.

He did not deserve the longing and love that he could just _feel_ pouring out from this young man, Peter.

Perhaps he was sent here by Aslan as a way to penance. To repent his sins at ever hurting the person Muddy could tell just from the short encounter was infinitely better and nobler than himself.

And more than anything, Muddy could not bear to even imagine what it would be like for Peter and his family – whoever they might be – to finally learn of his betrayal.

He could not follow him.

"No, good Sir. This is my home. I won't go with you," Muddy replied, bowing his head low.

"What? B-but-_why_? Please Edmund, come with me!" The utter distraught in the older boy's voice made Muddy cringe with guilt. But he knew he could not go with him, no matter what. Not with the past gnawing at him so.

Muddy racked his brains for some sort of plausible excuse.

"I-I don't have my memories, so I am more comfortable here, my Lord. All that I really know is here, and I don't want to leave," he managed to say at last.

Peter looked at him with such pain evident in his eyes. But after a long silence, he slowly nodded his head.

"I cannot and won't take away your comfort, Edmund. But can I-can I please wait here until you have your memories back? Please, Edmund?"

Even though Muddy knew he should not let Peter wait in vain – for he was sure that nothing could change his mind, as nothing could cleanse him of his sins – he could not say one simple word "no" to him.

Instead, he ended up mumbling, "Please call me Muddy, Sir," before he hastily retreated out of the room, the magnificent sword and still hanging bow long forgotten.

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**As always, reviews are much appreciated ;)**


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